


Happy Accidents

by Elpie (Horribibble), Malapropian



Series: To Love Your Footfalls [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Condoms, Omega Peter, Pre-Slash, Unplanned Pregnancy, Young Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4432646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malapropian/pseuds/Malapropian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At nine years old, Peter Hale is ready to rule the world. He’s too young yet to present as an Omega, but it’s plain to every one of his pack members.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> Malapropian: I'm really not very good at writing children, so you should all thank Elpie for being here to help. This would never have been finished without her.
> 
> Elpie: Okay, so it took a lot of whinging and prodding, but I couldn't have actually written the thing without babbling about it with Mala, who _did_ correct, edit, and write some fantastic content, as always. :3
> 
> This story is in the same universe as the To Love Your Footfalls series, but is chronologically prior to those stories. Behold, the epic love story. Or, you know, two dipshits in love, as always.

At nine years old, Peter Hale is ready to rule the world. He’s too young yet to present as an Omega, but it’s plain to every one of his pack members. He already has plenty of practice at making people believe it’s their idea to give him precisely what he wants. Not that Peter usually needs to do much convincing. He’s the surprise child born during his parents’ twilight years, and Talia is the squishiest, most soft-hearted older sister _ever_. 

The only person inclined to give Peter an outright _no_ is their cousin Atticus, who is perhaps the Alpha-iest Omega ever to confuse the hell out of small town Beacon Hills. Talia thinks Atticus is _special_ , and she talks about how smart and kind he is. She says things like, ‘Never judge a book by its cover,’ but Atticus is not a book that Peter is particularly inclined to read. Atticus is a _jerk_. 

He says no like _all the time_ in this zenned-out tone, and whenever they have dinner together he reminds Peter to eat his vegetables _even though that is Owen’s job_. (Owen doesn’t mind because he’s having a _green_ phase. Completely separate from Peter’s influence. He would never manipulate his dipshit older brother. Noooo.)

He ruffles Peter’s hair and winks at him whenever someone hears that he’s pregnant and ‘so young!’ because the first time Talia knocked him up, the guy was _fifteen_. He makes Peter hold hands when they cross the street and picks him up when Peter’s doing _perfectly fine_ at climbing the counter himself and he actually _talks through_ Peter’s homework with him instead of just giving him the answers. 

In short, Atticus is the enemy. 

Atticus thinks it’s hilarious.

* * *

Atticus liked to pretend that he wasn’t afraid of anything, like he was so tough and level-headed. Peter knew that was an act because he’s seen Atticus vault over the couch to leave the room before Mamá gets there. It’s not like Atticus had a reason to be scared. It wasn’t _his_ fault Talia when knocked him up in high school. 

Peter was four years old when it first happened. The piercing sound Mamá Rosemaria made was enough to send _anybody_ upstairs rushing down, but he’d been busy frowning hard at his graded reader because Mrs. Milgram at the library wouldn’t let him check out _The Book of Five Rings_ , no matter how he smiled and wheedled. But then Owen bounded down the stairs and hauled him away to peek in at the drawing room door. 

_“Talia Luisa Hale where the fuck are you going to put a baby?”_

(Which still seems funny to Peter because the answer was— _duh_ —Atticus’ gut.)

_“Mamá, it’s not like we don’t have rooms free. Atticus can stay with us, and…”_

_“Por supuesto! We wanted you to have a relationship with your cousins! Not a **sex life**! Bertie. Bertie, help me I’m going to kill this girl, lo juro.”_

_“Rose, this isn’t that uncommon. It’s going to be all—Rose, put it down, baby.”_

_“I’m going to put a chastity hex on you, so help me. Te pego!”_  


Mamá didn’t actually smack Talia, but she _did_ call baby Laura ‘El Accidente’ until the toddler began 

_responding to that name_ , which was when Talia lost her shit completely and staged a family intervention.  
Peter didn’t see the big deal. It wasn’t like El Acc— _Laura_ would be useful until she learned to walk. And she  
_smelled bad_ 70% of the time. When he said so, Talia had made a face like she wanted nothing more than to hang him by his ankles, but Atticus had laughed and laughed. 

“You’re four,” Talia said, “What do you know?”

“My multiplication tables. And that you don’t knock people up in high school because duh, _Alpha_.” He also knew exactly where to hide so Talia couldn’t reach him, no matter how much she sucked in her stomach or wriggled her hips like a dying fish.

* * *

Peter was six when the ‘Oops’ heard round the world finally reached Uberta and Rosemaria Hale. This time, Atticus managed to get _Talia_ pregnant, though they _still_ hadn’t gone through the traditional rites of mating. 

_“¿Qué le dijiste a mí?!”_

When Peter heard Mamá scream _this_ time, he practically shoved Owen down the steps in his eagerness to hear the fallout up close. (A six-year-old attempting to murder his ten-year-old brother is, sadly, nowhere near as unusual in their house.)

 _“There’s something wrong with you, Peter. No one enjoys that noise.”_ Owen whispered. 

_“Shut up,”_ Peter hissed back. _“Grow a pair.”_

Owen looked genuinely hurt, so Peter allowed him a brief pat before returning his attention to the hole-chewing going on in the drawing room. This time, post-shriek Mamá was unnervingly quiet, a large grin on her face as she stared at her mate expectantly. 

_“I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t have taken your mother’s curse dolls.”_ Uberta growled. 

_“Really.”_

_“Ima, you can’t really expect us to be celibate.”_ Talia said. 

_“You knocked your Ome—”_

_“ **An** , no ‘your’,”_ Mamá hissed, holding up her own decorated ring finger before flicking it at her neck. _“Still no marriage. Still no bond. Lazy fuckin’ teenagers.”_

_“ **Mamá** ,”_ Talia hissed back. _“I just graduated.”_

 _“Enjoy freshman year with a bun in the oven.”_ Mamá said. _“No. I’m sorry. I will be honest. Welcome to heeeeell.”_

Atticus shifted uncomfortably. _“Actually, we were thinking…”_

Ima narrowed her eyes, _“If the answer involves the words ‘not’ and ‘college’, I will contact your parents and have you finish out high school in **Siberia** , Atticus.”_

 _“Is cold there,”_ Mamá added with the perverse sort of glee in misfortune that she’d passed directly down to Peter. _“Like disappointment and poor life decisions.”_

 _“But Laura—,”_ Atticus whined, but Mamá waggled her finger. 

_“We will pack her a parka. Baby’s first snow.”_

_“ **Ima** , I’ll go to college. I can take a gap year until the baby’s born. We’ve got it all worked out.”_ Talia said. 

_“‘We’ve got it all worked out’,”_ Mamá mocked. _“Plan to take a gap year but can’t read the instructions on a strip of condoms.”_

About an hour later, with Talia and Atticus properly chastised and presented with a brand spanking new box of condoms, Mamá came to pet Owen and Peter’s heads while they sat on the couch, a perfect vision of non-eavesdropping innocence.  
_“My babies,”_ She cooed. _“You wouldn’t make little grandbabies before you were married, would you?”_

Both boys shook their heads furiously. 

_“Good!”_ Rosemarie smiled. _“Because then I would have to kill you.”_

Peter wanted to be _just like her_ when he grew up. Probably without the breasts, though. He was a little sad about the breasts.

* * *

But now, Peter is nine years old and on the verge of his presentation. It won’t be long at all now, and Atticus is fully prepared to ruffle his hair and practice his irritating ‘knowing’ looks on into oblivion. Sometimes Peter hopes to pop a knot, just to confuse the smug jerk. 

But even that doesn’t shake Atticus. He spends his time these days going to interpack land meets and preparing to accompany Talia as the future Alpha Mate. It’s all very proper, and Atticus is always eager to explain the _infinitely tedious_ barbecues and sociopolitical minefields disguised as club meetings and full moon runs and that Peter will one day be expected to attend as a respected pack Omega. 

Peter could not care less about the awkward maneuvering Atticus seems to fly through by the seat of his pants. Peter _knows_ how these things work. He has been wrapping people around his perfect clawed fingers since before he could crawl. (And really, why would he crawl when he could harass people into carrying him to where the cookies were?)

But then one day there’s a stranger on the couch, head buried in his hands and occupying _Peter’s reading spot_. And honestly, Atticus is probably behind this. He’d heard him slam the door on his way in and run up the stairs, yelling for Talia. 

Which is fascinating, really, considering that anything capable of reducing an Alpha to tears and shaking is generally not best solved by _adding_ more Alphas. And this stranger is most definitely an Alpha. His power is great, if startlingly new and unsettled. 

Were Atticus downstairs, he’d have told Peter to stay away. But Atticus isn’t downstairs now, is he? And really, if anyone needs protecting in this scenario, it’s the poor bastard occupying _Peter’s reading spot._  
Peter takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders for battle. In his best commanding voice he says, “It seems we have a problem here.”

The Alpha’s shoulders still and he lowers his hands to get a proper look at his company. “I’m sorry?”  
He’s younger than Peter thought, fifteen at most, and Peter realizes that this must be Deucalion Blackwood, of the Blackwood pack. They came over recently from England, strengthening an area formerly overrun by faerie abductions and anti-were activism. 

Atticus talks about him often, as if he’s some sort of prodigy among the average werewolf populace. Peter made a joke about Atticus running off with the Blackwood heir once, and Atticus had actually scolded him with _real_ disapproval. _You should look for an Alpha like that, Peter._ That’s what he’d said. 

But Peter isn’t quite as opposed to the concept now, taking in the soft brown hair, blue eyes, and warm accent. He hears Atticus speaking from some far off corner of his mind, telling him about how the fourteen-year-old Alpha is a _visionary_ , genuinely bright and charismatic and conscientious in a way that so many Alphas bulldoze straight through. 

Now here he is, coming apart at the seams on the old Hale family couch, the ties of Pack snapping and rearranging themselves nearly tangible in the air. Which can only mean that his father is dead— _or murdered_. For once, he’s at a loss. Peter knows he should make an attempt at sensitivity or empathy, but all he can do is blurt out, “You’re in my spot.”

“Oh,” Deucalion says, blinking slowly as if confused by the child in front of him. He scents the air slowly, and his lips turn up at the corners despite the train wreck that has become his life. “I hadn’t thought…”

“That’s all right. Atticus never does.” Peter shrugs his sharp little shoulders and tucks his book under an arm to better climb directly into the older boy’s lap. Docile as a kitten, Deucalion lets it happen without complaint, even allowing himself to be maneuvered so that the younger boy can lean more comfortably into his chest. Peter tucks his bare feet under the fuzzy throw pillow propped against the armrest and lets one bony elbow dig into the Alpha’s gut. 

“He’s always seemed level-headed to me, you know,” Deucalion mutters. “At the meetings. And Talia’s studying emergency training, he said.”

“She’s going for her certification, yes.” Peter rolls his eyes, cracking his book open but paying next to no attention to the words on the page. 

“I… well, that’s just what I thought.” Deucalion ducks his head and brushes the tip of his nose against the shell of Peter’s ear in an attempt to subtly scent him. Peter gives him the side-eye, but goes back to staring at the pages. 

They sit in silence for a moment or two, Deucalion quietly nuzzling at him when Peter makes no objections and Peter listening carefully as Deucalion’s breathing becomes less ragged. Eventually, the older boy asks, “What are you reading?”

“ _The Prince_.”

“By Machiavelli?”

Peter narrows his eyes at the pages. “‘Too advanced’?”

“Not at all! That’s impressive, if a bit…”

“You think he’s too dark for a kid.”

“I think he’s an arse.” Deucalion rubs his cheek against Peter's temple. “Not everything comes down to fear and manipulation, but he did make a few good points.” Deucalion’s smile is indulgent. His hands don’t shake even a little as he hugs Peter closer, like a human safety blanket. “You’re smart, then?” 

A brief grin splits his face. Finally, someone willing to acknowledge the truth of his greatness. “Smarter than them.” He snorts, eyes rolling up at the ceiling. “They can’t even figure out how to work a condom.”

“I suppose I should ask you instead.”

“How to work a condom?”

Deucalion coughs, face flushing a brilliant red. He’ll have to work on that if he intends to be a leader. “How to work a _pack_.”

Peter sighs and gives the nine-year-old approximation of a sage nod. Because this should be a question, or a tease, but it’s not. Deucalion looks at him with absolute faith that he _should_ be able to run his decisions through Peter.

“Of course you should. No one _ever_ asks _me_ , so you’ll be the first and the best off.”

“You won’t steer me wrong?”

Peter gives him a sour look, lips pursed and eyebrows arched high, as if he is the most stubborn sort of idiot, but he doesn’t fight at all when Deucalion rests his head against the hollow of his throat and rasps a short, barking laugh. He gives in to the urge to pet the Alpha’s soft brown hair and doesn’t say anything when those strong shoulders start to shake again. 

When Atticus finally comes back down with Talia, he stops short on the last step, blinking at the two of them all tangled up on the couch. It’s like watching a lightbulb go on in his head, because _haha_ , Peter found an Alpha like that.  
Talia sighs the same way she does when baby Derek eats a pair of her shoes and says, “Well, we’re going to have to set some ground rules.”

* * *

The next morning, Talia goes to talk with Uberta about setting ground rules for Peter and his new friend. Her plan holds out for roughly as long as it takes for the older Alpha to prepare her morning tea. Uberta is attentive as she raises the cup to her lips, a soft and sympathetic smile on her face. It’s a lie. 

“Sweetheart,” she says. “I think maybe you should look at this from our perspective.”

“What perspective is that? This is deeply concerning _regardless of perspective_!”

“Come meditate with me.”

“Ima, we should discuss this! Not _meditate_.”

“You’re going to anyway.” Uberta’s tone is as serene as always, but Talia knows better than to argue. She follows her mother out to the back porch, the soft light of dawn washing over everything, the air rich with the scents of green growth and wet earth from the garden. 

She plops down next to her mother on the boards and closes her eyes. Uberta leads her in a breathing exercise followed by a period of silent contemplation. Talia suffers through another entire cycle of deep, controlled breathing and silence before she gives in and pointedly _does not whine_ , “All right, so what _exactly_ is your perspective?”

“There’s really nothing to worry about.”

“Peter’s _nine_.”

“No one has done anything improper.”

“He hasn’t hit puberty yet. What happens when he presents?”

“I’m sure they’ll address that matter when it comes, Talia. They haven’t known each other a _day_.”

“And Deucalion may be just fine now, but what happens when Peter starts manipulating him? I love him. We _all_ love him, but we both know how he is. He’s like Mamá turned up to eleven. He’ll get that Alpha all kinds of confused, and then he’ll get cocky. And then his first heat will hit and…”

Uberta sighs, opening her eyes and leveling her oldest child with a dry look. “And what? He’ll forget how condoms work? Baby, I say this with all the love in my heart: Peter is smarter than you.”

 _“‘Peter is smarter than you’?_ Peter is _nine years old_.”

“He showed your Mamá and I how to properly put on a condom. Unprompted. He even made the reservoir. It was cute.”

“You’re joking. You have to be joking. Okay, look. We had a few hicc— _babies_. We had _babies_ not _accidents_. And they weren’t exactly _planned_ , but we love them. And we’re glad. We’d make that same mistake over again.” Uberta coughs, and Talia makes an abrupt scolding noise because she is _not_ finished speaking. “ _Figuratively speaking_. We’re happy. We love them, and each other, and things are good. We haven’t been married yet. We’re not _ready_ to be married yet. That’s a big decision, okay? And it’s not one we feel we’re ready to make. We’re happy with how things are right now. Isn’t that enough?”

Uberta takes a deep breath and smiles at her oldest child. “Well, then. You’ve got your answer.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Clearly you’ve thought this through, just like your brother thinks things through. And if he makes a mistake—and he _will_ sometimes—you’ll be there, won’t you? Right now, he’s met a young man he wants to look after, and it seems to me that particular young man could use it.”

“He’s still not smarter than me.”

“Of course not, dear.”

“He’s not.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m letting Derek eat his shoes.”


End file.
